


There But For the Grace

by indiefic



Series: Distant Shores [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dom/sub mentions, F/M, Gen, Interdimensional Travel, characters meeting other versions of themselves, how does a D/s society really work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5820001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evvie is an outsider, pulled in from an alternate dimension to assist the Avengers.  Something goes wrong and Steve and Natasha end up in Evvie's world.  They find a world much like their own, with the exception that every person has a preordained position in society, some dominant, some submissive.  Steve and Natasha discover their places and learn why Evvie seems so familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There But For the Grace

**Author's Note:**

> While this story is stylistically and thematically very different, it was very much inspired by [quigonejinn's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quigonejinn/pseuds/quigonejinn) [Kind Men](http://archiveofourown.org/works/466063).

Steve watches the young woman, Evvie, carefully.  She braces her hands on the table, leaning forward as she studies the screen.  She tilts her head to the side and Steve gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.  Swallowing hard, he looks away, out across the Manhattan skyline.  He isn’t precisely needed at the moment, so he turns, heading for his office so he can change and hit the gym.

 

* * *

Steve lowers the weights to the floor carefully, more out of care for the weights than himself.  He looks over to find Natasha sitting on one of the benches, watching him.  Standing up, he pulls at the tape on his hands, shaking his head.  Resuming the conversation where they left off two days earlier, he says, “It’s not a scar.  Not from an injury.  It’s a ...”  He trails off, searching for the right term.

 

“A callus,” Natasha says bluntly, looking at him, waiting for his reaction.  “Evvie has a callus.  On her neck.  And her wrists.  Which she tries to hide.”  She shrugs, dispassionate.  “They’re old.  You can tell they grew with her, deformed as she aged.”  She purses her lips together.  “She’s older than she looks too.  I’m guessing forty maybe, though she looks half that.”

 

Steve frowns, the sick feeling returning as he stares at the floor.  He doesn’t ask what the callus could be from.  Steve is often accused of being naive, but he’s not stupid.  Instead, he says, “How?”  He frowns.  “Why?”  He looks back to Natasha.  “You think Strange - “

 

Natasha shakes her head.  “Evvie doesn’t mind Strange.  Don’t get me wrong, she’s not crazy about the guy, but she isn’t afraid of him.”  

 

She doesn’t elaborate any further because she doesn’t need to.  Evvie is ... high strung, for lack of a better word.  Traumatized is probably closer to the truth, though it’s not quite right either.  Steve has known enough traumatized people to know the difference.  She’s flighty, jumpy.  But she’s someone who has known kindness and affection and safety in her life.  It’s just at the moment, in this place, this _world_ , she is very out of her element, jittery.

 

Evvie isn’t afraid of Dr. Strange.  She isn’t afraid of Hill or Barton or Thor.  She seems to genuinely like Steve and Natasha.  But she is terrified of Tony, and she doesn’t care for Pepper.  The last two throw Steve.  Tony’s, well, _Tony._  But even by Tony’s standards, the guy has been on good behavior.  And Pepper ... Pepper’s never been so much as impolite to _anyone_ in Steve’s experience.

 

“Has Strange said anything more about where he found her?” Steve asks, knowing it’s a long shot.

 

Natasha shrugs.  “Just that she’s not from around here,” she says, leaning back on the bench, stretching out, elbows braced behind her, legs crossed at the ankle.  “Though I get that he meant that in the same sense that the Chitauri aren’t from around here.”

 

Steve snorts and tosses the athletic tape into a trashcan.  “She definitely knows her stuff about the Refs.”

 

“Rettophs,” Natasha corrects absently.  “And yeah, without her we’d be twice as screwed as we are.”  She looks at him.  “Makes you wonder where she learned it.  It’s not exactly a common skillset.”

 

Steve shrugs.  He doesn’t even know what a common skillset is these days.  Once upon a time, it was a basic military fitness test.  These days, with Thor, Banner, Wanda, Vision and Strange, not to mention Tony and his inventions, it’s a free for all.  Technology and magic, all mixed together into some horribly volatile concoction that is Steve’s daily life.  But Natasha is right.  Even by his standards, Evvie is pretty out there.  She’s definitely more on the magic side of the spectrum as opposed to technology.  Though Steve had a very circular conversation the other day with Rhodey about how to a primitive society, any sufficiently advanced technology is essentially magic.  Steve didn’t find that particularly reassuring.  Least of all because he assumes this argument makes _them_ the primitives.

 

* * *

A week later, they’re driving the last of the Refs back to wherever they came from.  It’s some kind of portal.  Not like the one over Manhattan - or on the Valkyrie - but unmistakable none the less.  

 

One of them lashes out and Steve moves on instinct, shielding Evvie, tossing Natasha behind them.  Strange yells something, but Steve can’t hear it.

 

* * *

Steve wakes ... later.  He blinks, pushing himself into a sitting position.  Evvie is there, sprawled boneless on the floor.  Natasha is there too, but curled tightly into a little ball.  He grabs her shoulder and gives her a hard shake.  She groans, and curls up tighter.

 

Steve goes to Evvie, pushes at the scarf she always wears and presses his fingers against her throat, feeling for a pulse.  It’s there, slow and sure.  He sits back and looks around.  It’s a small, square room.  Cinder block walls.  Fluorescent light in the ceiling.  There’s a single, heavy steel door with no window.  There’s an intricate design carved into the cement floor.  It reminds Steve of something from Strange’s place.

 

“What happened?” Natasha asks, hand shielding her eyes against the light.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve says.  “I think maybe we got too close to the portal.”

 

Natasha blinks and looks around.  “If that was the case, shouldn’t there be Rettophs here?”

 

Steve shrugs.  “Hell if I know.”

 

Natasha doesn’t make a crack about the language.  She never thought the joke was funny.

 

Steve stands up, looks around.  The room is solid.  He can’t hear anything outside.  He tests the door.  It’s locked, and solid as the walls.  Steve doubts he could fight his way out of here.  He’s really hoping he doesn’t have to.

 

It’s maybe ten minutes before Evvie stirs.  She coughs, rolling onto her side.  She blinks quickly, looking around and groans.  “Shit.”

 

“Where are we?” Natasha asks.

 

“Home,” Evvie says quietly.  She pushes herself into a sitting position and then scoots across the floor so she can lean back against the wall.  She pulls something out of her pocket, a shiny black rectangle.  Steve’s seen her holding it before, but it never seemed to do anything.  It’s doing something now.  He figures it must be like a smartphone, or whatever passes for one in wherever the hell they are.  She taps away at it and then sighs, slumping back against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest.

 

Steve looks at Evvie, noting that she looks both relieved and scared.  He assumes she’s scared on his behalf - and Natasha’s - though maybe not.  Her hand goes reflexively to her throat and then she circles her left wrist with her right hand, clearly uneasy.  She starts to fidget.  Evvie is an attractive woman, slightly built, but willowy tall, with dark hair and eyes.  Her skin is pale and her nose and cheeks are dotted with freckles.  She wears dark framed glasses, probably to give her some air of gravitas, because the rest of her certainly doesn’t impart any.  She reminds him of -   Steve pushes the thought away, as he has every other time the notion has occurred to him in the last three weeks.

 

“How do we get out of here?” Natasha asks, tone clipped, impatient.

 

“We wait,” Evvie says, staring at the ground.  “They will come for us.”  She finally looks up, her gaze going from Natasha to Steve.  “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says.  “No one was supposed to come back with me.  It’s not allowed.”

 

“It’s a little late for that,” Natasha snaps.  Evvie flinches, pulling her knees tighter against her chest.  

 

Steve reaches out, puts a hand on Natasha’s forearm.  He feels her sigh, relax.  “Can we get home?” Steve asks.

 

Still looking at the floor, Evvie nods.  “Yes, they can send you home.”

 

“Who is ‘they’, Evvie?” Steve asks patiently.  “Where are we?”

 

* * *

 

Steve and Natasha listen in silence as Evvie explains.  Her world is similar to theirs.  Similar, but not identical.  It sounds like her world is slightly more technologically advanced.  Considerably more metaphysically advanced.  There are many people in her world like Dr. Strange, she tells them.  And there are many people like Steve.  And, she admits, after considerable hesitation, there is one person _exactly_ like Steve.

 

She tells them, in a stilting flow, her words carefully chosen, that there is a Steve Rogers alive and well in her world.  He is one of many super soldiers enhanced by Dr. Erskine.  The most successful, the most well known.  But one, of scores.  

 

“Do you know him?” Natasha asks.

 

Evvie stops her explanation and glances at Steve, then back to the floor.  She nods.  Steve looks at Natasha, watches her, watching Evvie.  There’s more there.  He just doesn’t know what it is.  He wonders what Natasha suspects.

 

Evvie presses on with her explanation of her world.  She says that society here isn’t like it is in the world they come from.  She explains that there are ... roles, levels to society.  It is highly striated.  And rigidly enforced.

 

“A caste system?” Steve asks, frowning, quietly appalled.

 

Evvie nods again, seemingly relieved he understands the concept.

 

“Is that why they make you wear a collar?” Natasha asks.

 

Evvie looks up at her and swallows thickly.  But she’s not cowed, not ashamed.  “Yes,” she says flatly.  “I am lesser.  But I am owned.”  Her chin juts out slightly with the last sentence.  A point of pride, though Steve has no idea why.

 

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but he has no words for that.

 

“I’m lucky,” Evvie explains, her brows puckering together in a frown.  “I am cared for, given a collar, given status, privilege.  Many like me are not so lucky.”

 

Steve’s mouth works, but no sound will come out.

 

“And what about us?” Natasha asks, glancing at Steve.

 

Evvie frowns again and then seems to realize that Natasha is asking if someone is going to try and collar her and Steve.  “Dominant classes are given patches, to mark their status.  You will probably be given one,” she says to Natasha.  

 

Natasha turns and looks pointedly at Steve.  Evvie shakes her head, appalled.  “Alphas are _never_ marked, in any way,” she says vehemently.  “Even if they are offworlders.”

 

Natasha snorts, but seems relieved.  “Is there some kind of test?” she asks.  “How do you know what we are?”

 

Evvie cants her head to the side, watching Natasha.  “A lesser always knows their betters.  How else could we show them the proper respect?”

 

* * *

Steve is on his feet as the door is opened.  There are two guards, heavily armed.  But they don’t appear hostile, just slightly bored.  One’s hand rest idly at her belt as the other steps into the room.

 

“Heya, Evvie,” he says, handing her a canvas bag.  “You’re back early.”

 

Evvie immediately darts forward and opens the canvas bag, extracting three stips of leather.  They’re not what Steve was expecting when he saw the calluses.  They’re not what he was expecting when he heard Evvie use the term ‘collar’.  It looks like something he’s seen in pictures of high fashion runway shows.  Black leather with platinum accents.  Expensive and tailored to fit Evvie to perfection.  The collar and wrist wraps are a perfectly matched set, elegant, expensive, tastefully simple.

 

Evvie adjusts the collar into place and it settles against her skin into the grooves in her flesh.  Steve can see her relax, feel her energy level decrease with relief as the collar presses into her skin.  

 

“There was a problem,” Evvie says to the guard, keeping her eyes on the floor, though her tone is cordial.  She must know him, like him even.  “We have offworld visitors.”

 

The guard nods and steps out of the cell.

 

Steve looks at Natasha and her attention is riveted on the plaque in the middle of the collar.  Steve looks closer and then pales.  It reads “Stark Industries”.

 

The guards give them a wide berth, allowing Evvie to exit the room.  She motions to Steve and Natasha to follow.  Steve doesn’t miss how the guards not only don’t try to herd him, they won’t even make eye contact with him.  He takes note of the olive green patches on their chests.

 

* * *

“Are Alphas common?” Natasha asks, leaning back against the glass wall of the elevator in which they are riding.  She looks Steve over appraisingly and he doesn’t particularly like it.

 

They’re in Manhattan, Steve is almost certain of that.  But it’s definitely not the Manhattan he knows.  It’s denser, taller.  There’s no park.  There are a myriad of skyways connecting buildings, numerous elevated train tracks that shuttle hoards of people back and forth.

 

“Alphas account for approximately two percent of the human population,” Evvie says, as if reciting from a grade school textbook.  And Steve pales when he realizes that very well may be the case.

 

“And the rest are ... lesser,” Natasha guesses.

 

Evvie shakes her head and Steve has the distinct impression that Evvie doesn’t like being forced into the position of correcting Natasha.  “Lessers, _true_ lessers, are between fifty and sixty percent of the human population.”  She sighs.  “Between Alphas and lessers, there are dozens of steps of progressively increasing status, typically defined by their vocations.  Scholars and Soldiers are the most common.  Mages, the least common.”

 

“And what, exactly, are you?” Natasha asks.

 

Evvie bows her head.  “I am a true lesser,” she says.  “Not demoted because of my actions.  I was born this way.”  She takes a deep breath.  “Many lessers spend their entire lives searching for shelter, at the mercy of anyone stronger or of higher status than themselves.  It is every lesser’s goal to be given a collar, a home, status.”

 

“And you belong to Tony Stark?” Natasha asks.

 

Evvie’s head shoots up and she meets Natasha’s eyes for a brief moment, before once again bowing her head.  “I belong to _Howard_ Stark,” she says.  “I am his property.”

 

“By your choice?” Steve asks before he can stop himself.

 

“It is never at the lesser’s choice,” Evvie says firmly.  “My parents arranged it.  Howard has been kind, generous, a mentor.  He has afforded me many opportunities not typically extended to my kind, including being allowed offworld.”

 

“And Tony hates you for it,” Natasha guesses.

 

Evvie’s expression tightens, but she doesn’t look up.  “Yes,” she says quietly.

 

* * *

Steve tries to follow Evvie down the hall, but she’s slow, she keeps pausing.  He finally realizes it’s because this isn’t done.  A lesser, someone with a collar, doesn’t lead people like him and Natasha around.  A lesser follows.  Steve’s teeth grind together.

 

As they walk through the bustling skyscraper, they pass scores of other people, most of them with colored patches on their chests.  None of them will meet Steve’s eyes for more than a moment.  

 

He sees maybe a dozen other people with collars.  The common denominator is that they all seem to be service staff, pushing brooms or mop buckets.  Aside from that, there’s no commonality he can find.  They are men and women, of various races and ages.  Evvie seems to be an anomaly in that she isn’t cleaning anything.  Several of the other lessers glance at her with open irritation.

 

They turn a corner and Evvie stops so abruptly Steve almost walks into the back of her.  He stops, follows her line of sight to a man standing at the far end of the hall.  He’s a big guy, tall, with dark hair, maybe in his early thirties.  There’s a patch on his chest, red.  Evvie backs up quickly and doubles back the way they came.  She presses the button on an elevator several times and when the doors finally close behind them, she sighs in relief.

 

“So,” Natasha says, “who was that?”

 

“Grant Ward,” Evvie says without hesitation and Steve considers that she probably isn’t allowed to not answer a direct question.

 

“And you don’t like him,” Natasha baits.

 

“I value my life,” Evvie says quietly.

 

* * *

They finally arrive at their destination, some kind of apartment on the upper floors of the skyscraper.  It’s a suite, with at least four bedrooms and a panoramic view of the city.  

 

Evvie stands in front of Steve and Natasha, eyes downcast.  “The suite is fully stocked.  Clothes will be delivered shortly.  It will probably take a day or two for arrangements to be made to return you to your world.  In the meantime, it is requested that you remain in the suite unless escorted.”

 

“Are you leaving?” Steve asks.

 

“There are things to which I must attend,” Evvie says, “but I will be back soon.”  

 

Evvie just stands there and Steve realizes she’s waiting to be dismissed.  He sighs and says, “Okay, see you later.”

 

She nods and heads for the door.

 

Natasha walks over to the bank of windows and stares out.  Steve joins her.  “So, Alpha,” she says, jabbing him in the side with her elbow.  “Sad you won’t get a patch?”

 

Steve frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.  “So,” he says, “what do you really think?”

 

She shrugs.  Steve turns, looking at her, lips pursed together tightly.  She looks up at him, expression neutral.  “It’s not like this doesn’t happen where we’re from.  It’s just not done in places where you have to see it.  There are always haves and have-nots.  At least here they’re color coded.”

 

Steve looks back out at the skyline, irritated.  Mostly because he knows that even though she’s being unnecessarily crass, she’s right.  But it still offends him to the core, the idea that Evvie is forced to be submissive to practically everyone, that she doesn’t even seem to mind.  

 

Natasha walks over to the door to the suite and pauses, looking at Steve, her hand on the doorknob.  “Come on.”

 

“We’re supposed to wait here,” he says.

 

“No one questions an Alpha,” Natasha says, arching an eyebrow.

 

* * *

It turns out, Natasha is right.  Several people glance at him, several of them even seem to be surprised.  But no one says anything to them.  And no one stops them.  They don’t go far, mostly back the way Evvie brought them to the suite, lingering in hallways, testing doors.  It’s an office building, most likely a variation on Stark Tower, given how often the Stark Industries logo appears.

 

“May I help you folks?”

 

Steve turns.  It’s the guy Evvie saw earlier, the one who scared her, Grant Ward.  Steve doesn’t like his face.  “We’re fine.”

 

“You’re offworlders,” Ward says, “roaming unescorted.  Let me help you.”

 

“I said we’re fine,” Steve repeats.

 

Ward wavers, looks at the ground.  He glances back up, smirking smile curving his lips.  “Maybe you’ll enjoy what they’ll do to her,” he says darkly.  “Waste never should have been given a job this important.  They’ll make sure she doesn’t screw up again.”

 

Steve bristles, clears his throat.  He motions to Ward.  “Lead the way,” he says.

 

Ward shows them to some kind of sitting area.  It’s not a room, but there are partitions so it’s separated from the hallway.  He stands there, giving them the impression he intends to stay.  “Your world isn’t like this, huh?” he says.

 

Neither Steve nor Natasha reply.  Natasha takes a seat in a leather chair, her manner careless, unconcerned.

 

A uniformed woman enters the room, eyes downcast, patch on her chest light blue.  She hands another patch to Ward, this one black.  Ward steps over to Natasha.  “This is for you ma’am,” he says, holding out the patch.

 

Natasha looks at him placidly, but makes no move to take the patch.

 

Steve can see Ward’s jaw tighten, but he doesn’t move.  He stands there, holding out the patch.  Steve realizes what she’s doing.  She’s finding out if she’s higher on the pecking order than Ward.  And, apparently, she is.  With a sigh, she leans forward and takes the patch.  Ward is visibly relieved and he backs up several steps, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

 

It’s probably ten minutes before Evvie skitters into the room.  She sees Steve and Natasha and sighs, hand to her chest.

 

“Nice of you to show up,” Ward says.

 

Evvie jumps, turning and looking at him before dropping her gaze to the ground.  Ward approaches her, everything about his body language is predatory, intimidating.  Steve forces himself to stay where he is, vowing that if Ward touches her, Steve will intervene.

 

Ward leans down toward her.  “They got away from you, Ev.”

 

She flushes, lips pursing together tightly.

 

“Did you think they’d stay put because you asked nicely?” he baits, smiling.

 

Evvie remains silent, eyes downcast.

 

Ward sighs dramatically.  “The collared Carter,” he says, tsking, shaking his head.  “You must be such a disappointment.  When was the last time there was a lesser born in the Carter line?”  He pauses, pretends to think.  “Oh yeah,” he says, “never.”  He leans in again, crowding her.  “You know why, don’t you,” he says.  “Because they drown them when they’re born.”

 

Evvie flinches, curling in on herself, her bottom lip quivering.

 

“ _Ward_.”

 

Ward turns, just in time for the cane’s arc to catch him right under the chin, sending him sprawling backward, blood spraying everywhere from his split lip and nose.

 

Steve watches as Howard Stark lowers the cane, leaning on it heavily as he stares down at Grant Ward, bleeding on the floor.  Evvie turns and immediately stands behind Howard.

 

“I warned you once, Ward,” Howard says darkly, “about interfering with my property.”

 

“Sir,” Ward says, pushing himself to his feet.

 

Howard motions with his hand a half dozen armed guards enter the room.  Ward doesn’t fight.  He goes quietly.

 

Steve looks at Howard.  There’s no patch.  Not that Steve expected one.  Captain of industry and all, he’s definitely an Alpha.  Steve assumes Tony must be as well.

 

Howard is ... older.  Old.  But not nearly as old as he should be.  Not nearly a hundred.  Perhaps eighty.  He leans heavily on the cane and he looks tired.  He sighs.  “Goddammit, Evelyn,” he curses.

 

Evvie immediately stands at his side.  “I did what you said,” she stresses.

 

Howard frowns at her, but not unkindly.  “Not them,” he says, glancing at Steve and Natasha.  “Ward.  I told you if he bothered you again to call for help.”

 

She frowns.  It isn’t exactly defiant, but it’s certainly not compliant.  A fine line.

 

“You know, for a lesser,” Howard says, “you’re about as good at being truly submissive as your old man was.”  Evvie looks up at him.  “Which is to say _not at all_ ,” Howard finishes with a frown.  He shakes his head.  “Neither of you has the goddamn sense to keep your head down and your mouth shut.  One of these days some goon like Ward is really going to go after you and what the hell are you going to do if someone isn’t there to protect you?”

 

Evvie looks at him.  “Someone like Tony, you mean?”

 

Howard winces and Evvie immediately looks contrite.  She grabs his hand lightly with hers and he gives her a quick squeeze before releasing her.  “Go on,” he says, “take them back to their quarters.”  He gives Steve and Natasha a hard look.  “And I trust this time they’ll stay there or our hospitality may falter.”

 

* * *

 

In their absence, several changes of clothes have been delivered to the suite.  Evvie makes tea for everyone and then sits on the couch, tapping away at her phone.

 

“So your father was a lesser, but your mother wasn’t?” Natasha asks conversationally.

 

Evvie looks up and blinks at her.  “My father isn’t a lesser.”

 

Natasha frowns, but doesn’t press.  She just watches Evvie.

 

“If you are interested in the history of my world,” Evvie offers, “I can pull up an informational film.”

 

“Sure,” Steve says, taking a seat on the couch.  It’s not like he has anything better to do.  And while he would like to look around more, he’s not willing to do that if it’s going to cause harm to Evvie.  Mostly, he just wants to get home.

 

The film seems to be geared toward teaching outsiders - offworlders - an abbreviated history of how the society developed.  It’s much more focused on what the history means functionally day to day.  And what is and is not allowed, even for visitors.  It’s more detailed, but the information is essentially exactly what Evvie already told them.  The only particularly relevant bit for Steve is that the black of Natasha’s patch correlates to one of the most dominant of the non-Alpha classes, something obliquely referred to as Ops.

 

The film doesn’t go into a lot of detail, but they touch on the genetic component to the classes, how lessers tend to beget lessers, scholars to beget scholars and on and on.  There are certain families referred to as “Great Houses” which apparently produce nothing but Alphas, though there don’t appear to be many of those families.  

 

There are vague allusions to a series of devastating interplanetary wars that happened nearly a century earlier, resulting in much societal upheaval.  New crops of Alphas were born.  Steve assumes Howard must be one of those as opposed to someone from a Great House.  There is mention of something that sounds a whole lot like the Project Rebirth program.  But as Evvie already mentioned, rather than resulting in a single successful outcome, there were scores of super soldiers, who turned the tide of the wars.  

 

There are exactly two sentences in the film that make mention of limiting the number of lessers.  Steve presumes it’s because they figured out that a society largely composed of a submissive underclass wasn’t going to perform well in a war.  He knows it must be a delicate balance, to cultivate the perfect number of virtual slaves without endangering the entire population.  It makes him feel ill.  There’s another Steve Rogers out here somewhere.  A Steve Rogers who grew up in this system, who lives with it day in and day out.  A Steve Rogers who, perhaps, isn’t bothered at all by the status quo.

 

The film ends and Evvie asks if they would like a tour of the city.  They agree.  Evvie leads them to the roof, and into something that looks like a mix between a helicopter and a quinjet.  They see the sights.  Some of them are exactly the same as the ones at home, some are not.  

 

Later, they walk along a pedestrian mall and both Steve and Natasha are far more interested in watching the people than the sights.  There are people from all walks of life.  Every single color of patch Steve saw on the film is in evidence here.  And there are a lot of lessers.  Some with collars, some without.  Those without look to be miserable creatures and they are openly scorned and occasionally assaulted by more dominant classes - even by other lessers with collars.

 

But it’s not completely depressing.  Steve sees a lot of genuine care.  A byproduct of the highly striated society seems to be that more dominant classes seem to take protecting less dominants very seriously.  There are several different couples he sees, composed of a dominant and a lesser, where the lesser is visibly upset.  In both cases, the dominant curves their hand around the base of the lesser’s skull and pulls them close.  Some of the couples are clearly involved, others seem to be merely companions.  Once, Steve sees a collared lesser comfort her crying child in that manner.  No one questions it.  No one seems to take notice.  It’s commonplace.

 

Steve wonders what it must be like to live in this society.  There don’t appear to be many casual relationships, even between equals.  It’s as though people are forced to take an official position on how they relate to one another in every situation.  He isn’t sure if that would make things easier or harder.

 

After the people watching, Evvie takes them to an upscale restaurant and they eat.  By the time they return to the suite, it’s late.  Evvie heads for one of the bedrooms and Natasha says, “You’re staying here?”

 

Evvie nods and disappears into the bedroom.

 

Steve decides to call it a night.

 

* * *

Steve sleeps better than he’s slept in years.  He’s not sure what to make of that, but he doesn’t question.  He showers and changes into the provided clothes.  There’s no patch on his shirt.

 

For a moment, he sits on the end of his bed, trying to take it all in.  He saw the people last night, going about their daily lives.  It all still bothers Steve so profoundly - the idea that some people are simply better, more important, than others.  It’s still an affront to him that Evvie is at the mercy of more dominant individuals.

 

The ‘collared Carter’.  That’s the term Ward used to taunt Evvie.  Is Carter her last name?  Steve doesn’t know.  For all he knows, she doesn’t have a last name.  But it fits.  For weeks, she’s reminded him fleetingly of Peggy.  There’s some connection there, between Evvie and Peggy.  Steve doesn’t have any idea what it is, but there are too many coincidences to deny it at this point.

 

Steve wonders if that connection is why it bothers him so much.  Peggy Carter, the Peggy of his memories, was a fierce creature, never backing down.  And sometimes Evvie’s looks remind him of that Peggy.  But Evvie’s manner is more akin to the Peggy he knows now, the confused and frail woman whose mind comes and goes.  The idea of anyone taking advantage of her, anyone intending her harm, is enough to make Steve’s blood boil.

 

* * *

Steve enters the suite’s kitchen, stopping short at the sight of Phil Coulson smiling brightly as he talks to Evvie.  Coulson has a white patch on his shirt, one of the more dominant classes, but not the very top.  When Coulson sees Steve, he rises to his feet, eyes downcast.  Evvie stays where she is, but she keeps her eyes on the countertop.

 

“Uh, morning,” Steve says, wondering how the hell an Alpha is supposed to address someone of lower status.  Steve doesn’t want to accidentally insult anyone.  Not, he suspects, that they’d tell him if he did.

 

Coulson nods.

 

Evvie handles the introductions and Steve joins them at the kitchen island, cup of coffee in hand.  This Phil Coulson seems a lot like the Phil Coulson who Steve knew.  He’s personable, slightly awkward and it’s clear he has a crush on Evvie.  If looks are anything to go by, and Steve honestly isn’t sure with Evvie, it’s mutual.

 

By the time Natasha finally joins them, they’ve moved out into the living room.  Evvie and Coulson are on the couch, Steve stands at the window, watching the sights.  Coulson and Evvie keep up a steady stream of chatter.  Evvie tells Coulson about her trip to Steve and Natasha’s world and Steve is amused with the things she found strange - tiny dogs apparently being chief among the oddities.  She doesn’t mention feeling out of sorts not wearing a collar.  Steve suspects that isn’t the kind of thing that is mentioned in polite company.

 

There’s a knock at the door and young man, by the name of Ian, with a lavender patch on his shirt, tells Evvie it’s time for Steve and Natasha to be evaluated.  While the words seem ominous, Ian’s attitude certainly isn’t.  He mostly stands there and grins at Evvie, looking as much an idiot as Coulson.  Coulson, by contrast, does not seem to appreciate this turn of events.

 

In short order, Steve, Natasha and Evvie are following Ian down the hall.  Like Coulson, Ian keeps up a constant stream of chatter at Evvie.  She blushes and smiles a lot, but doesn’t say much.  Steve doesn’t think she likes Ian as much as Coulson, but it’s just a guess.  As was so helpfully pointed out a lifetime ago, Steve doesn’t know a damn thing about women.

 

The “evaluation” consists of Natasha and Steve sitting in a chair while some technician with a smartphone points something at them.  When he tells them they can go, Steve says, “That’s it?”

 

Evvie nods.  “They need to take readings to make sure which dimension to return you to, but it’s not complicated.”

 

“So why does it take several days?” Natasha asks.

 

Evvie shrugs.  “There’s a queue,” she says.  “Interdimensional travel is incredibly common.  You just have to wait your turn in line.”

 

When it’s time to go, Ian is nowhere to be found.  Though Steve suspects from the lavender patch that Ian isn’t particularly high up on the pecking order.  Steve doubts Ian could do much toward keeping Evvie safe, though Steve figures he and Natasha can take care of that by themselves, if it comes to that.

 

The rest of the day is positively boring.  Evvie takes Steve and Natasha to a private gym.  Later, they have lunch.  Then they sit in the couch flipping through channels.  They find several sitcoms, several of which are exactly like the ones in their world.  

 

“Not exactly,” Natasha says, leaning toward him conspiratorially as they’re both slumped down on the couch.  

 

“How’s it different?” Steve demands.

 

“Well, for starters, I’m pretty sure in Sex in the City that Carrie wasn’t leading her date around on a leash.”

 

Steve frowns and shrugs.  It doesn’t seem that different to him.

 

* * *

It’s late in the evening and empty pizza boxes are scattered on the coffee table.  There’s a knock and the door and a moment later, Evvie comes back, leading Phil Coulson into the room.  He looks serious, but excited.

 

“We need you,” he says to Evvie.

 

She looks from Coulson back to Steve and Natasha.  “We’d have to take them.”

 

“Of course,” Coulson replies, still looking expectantly at Evvie.

 

Evvie bites down on her bottom lip and nods.

 

Ten minutes later, they’re in a dark SUV, racing across town.  Coulson drives, Steve has shotgun.  “Why do you need Evvie?” Steve asks.

 

“Hoppers,” Coulson replies, glancing over at Steve.  When he sees that the answer doesn’t provide any clarification, he continues, “offworld parasites.  They’re incredibly difficult to catch.  It requires someone who can manipulate the aether.”

 

Steve doesn’t know what that means, but he says, “Evvie?”

 

Coulson nods.  “It’s why she was able to help you guys with the Rettophs.  She’s a lot stronger offworld.  But even here, she has abilities far beyond what would be expected in a lesser.  There’s only a handful of people who can do it and none of them are in the city right now.”

 

* * *

 

“That’s it, Evvie,” Coulson says, beaming.  “You got it.”

 

Evvie turns and smiles at Coulson.  There’s blood pouring from her nose.  

 

Steve manages to catch her before she hits the floor.

 

* * *

 

Evvie’s sitting on the end of the bed in the emergency department.  She has a private room.  Steve assumes this isn’t standard protocol for a lesser.  It’s probably the collar emblazoned with Stark Industries.  She looks better, still a little pale, but much recovered.

 

Steve and Natasha are sitting in a pair of uncomfortable chairs near the bed, waiting for the doctor to return.  Coulson paces, looking deeply worried and remorseful.  They’ve been here for hours.

 

Coulson abruptly stops pacing, his head snapping toward the door.  He hurries out into the hallway.  From their angle, Steve and Natasha can’t see what’s going on.  As it turns out, they don’t need to.  Only moments later, Coulson stumbles backward into the room, falling and sliding back against the far wall with considerable force.

 

Evvie hops off the bed and meets him as soon as he walks through the door.  Steve remains in his chair, blinking at his doppleganger.  They’re not identical.  He looks older than Steve, though not as old as Howard.  His hair is longer, darker, and he has a full beard.  And he looks very, very angry.

 

“ _Dad_ ,” Evvie says, pushing ineffectively at his chest as he advances on Coulson.  She turns around, planting her feet against the floor and pushing back against him.  He finally stops, probably because he’s concerned about Evvie making herself sick again.  

 

She turns, looking up at him.  He stares down at her, jaw tight, but reaches out, pulling her against himself.  He holds her to him, hand curved around the base of her skull, the way Steve saw other dominants comforting lower orders.  Evvie presses her forehead against his collarbone, her arms going around his waist.

 

“It’s not Phil’s fault,” Evvie says, her voice muffled against her father’s shirt.

 

The other Steve positively glowers at Coulson.  “It is,” he says darkly.

 

“Sir,” Coulson says, pushing himself to his feet, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.  “I take full responsibility.  I never meant for Evvie to get hurt.”

 

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Steve snaps.  Coulson looks up, meeting his gaze, expression meek.  “It isn’t a matter of her lacking self-esteem,” Steve continues, still holding Evvie.  “She has no sense of self-preservation when it comes to pleasing people.  There’s nothing in her head that tells her to stop.  She will kill herself to make you happy.  It’s who she is.”

 

Coulson swallows thickly and looks back at the floor.

 

“We’re leaving,” the other Steve says.

 

* * *

Steve and Natasha sit in the back seat of the SUV.  The other Steve and Evvie are in the front.  Steve can’t help watching his counterpart.  It’s unnerving.  And the guy is Evvie’s father, which answers nearly as many questions as it raises.

 

“He’s a good person,” Evvie says quietly.

 

“He’s reckless, and he has no idea what to do with a lesser,” her father answers, eyes on the road.  “His family could never afford the extra mouths.  They were forced to bond up or starve.”

 

Evvie looks down at her hands, clasped together in her lap.  “It’s not your fault I’m like this,” she says.

 

“We’re not talking about this again,” the other Steve answers.  He doesn’t sound angry, only tired.  “Coulson obviously cares about you, but he doesn’t get it.  He doesn’t understand what you are.  And he will never be in a position to be able to protect you.”  He looks over at her.  “Howard told me about what happened with Ward.”

 

“Howard won’t live forever,” Evvie says.

 

Her father sighs.  “I know.  And we’ll make other arrangements, which do not involve Phil Coulson.”

 

“If I’m entailed in the Stark trust, I’ll be Tony’s property,” Evvie says.  “There won’t be anything you can do about it.”

 

“You’re not entailed,” he answers.  “We made sure of that.  Ownership will revert.”

 

Evvie sighs, slumping back against the seat.  She looks desolately out the window.  “So I’ll be Mother’s again.”

 

He reaches over and clasps her hand.  “It won’t be so bad,” he says gently.  “It’s just until we can find another arrangement.”

 

“Another sucker, you mean,” she says and there’s obvious bitterness.  “One who doesn’t mind a mutinous lesser so long as she has impeccable bloodlines.”

 

“Another _arrangement_ ,” he replies, looking at her. “One that will ensure you are protected.”

 

“It’s easy for you to say,” Evvie replies petulantly.  “No one ever owned you.”

 

He looks at her for a long moment.  “Do you honestly think not having an owner would be an improvement over your situation?  Do you want me to take the collar and dump you on the streets and see what happens to lessers with no protectors?  Mutinous or not, they’d tear you to pieces.  You’ve been sheltered your entire life.  You have no idea.”

 

Evvie bows her head.  

 

He sighs.  “I love you, sweetheart.   _We_ love you.  We’ll figure something out.”

 

* * *

It’s early the next morning and Steve and Natasha are in another small room, with an intricate design cut into the cement floor.  Steve looks up, through the open door and sees Evvie standing there with her father.  There’s a flash of lights and just before everything goes dark, he sees Peggy Carter join them.  

 

A Peggy Carter, still vibrant and bold, who appears to be the same age as the other Steve.  

 

A Peggy Carter who is obviously Evvie’s mother.

 

* * *

 

Steve blinks awake in Strange’s lab at the Tower, Natasha at his side.

 

END STORY

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of at least two stories in this series. The other story, Distant Shores, is darker, focusing on 'the other Steve' and his experiences in Evvie's world.


End file.
